


By Its Cover

by Brate



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-14
Updated: 2012-10-14
Packaged: 2017-11-16 06:47:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 671
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/536654
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Brate/pseuds/Brate
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Even the great Sherlock Holmes needs help once in a while.</p>
            </blockquote>





	By Its Cover

"Come, John, we're on the move."

John didn't bother asking; he merely grabbed his coat and followed Sherlock down the stairs and out the door. 

Sherlock hailed a taxi, one magically appearing as always. He gave the driver an address unfamiliar to John, then sat back in his seat, a gleeful expression on his face.

"What are we on to now?"

"I think I've finally gotten a fix on Marshall Miller," Sherlock revealed triumphantly.

"Miller?" John asked, puzzled. "I thought you gave up on that case."

Sherlock scoffed, "Really, John. I was merely waiting for the appropriate opportunity to spring my trap."

"And now we have it."

"Correct."

John waited a long moment. "You going to let me in on it?"

"I recently discovered that Miller was a member of a certain clandestine organization. I just had to figure out a way to track them."

Normally, Sherlock was chomping at the bit to share every detail of his brilliance; getting him to stop was the challenge. This reticence was unusual and didn't bode well. 

"What kind of secret group?" John asked.

On his side of the cab, Sherlock fidgeted, then developed a burning interest in the state of his manicure. John stared, deploying all his patience to outmaneuver his flatmate.

At last, ego triumphed over apparent embarrassment, Sherlock succumbed and filled the awkward silence. "If you must know, he is a member of an illegal, high-stakes senior Bingo league."

"Bingo, huh?" John struggled not to laugh. "And you were unable to unearth this for several months?"

"I was having some difficulty narrowing down the specific locations of their gatherings. I needed an insider. As you can imagine, I couldn't really blend in."

"No, I would think not," John agreed. "But who—" He cut himself off, a slow realization spreading a chill throughout his body. "Please don't tell me…"

"She was more than happy to do it," Sherlock defended. "In fact, she thought it was very exciting."

"This was murder, Sherlock. You put Mrs. Hudson in the middle of a murder case."

"She'll be fine. I have her location on GPS, and we're headed there now to back her up. She's going to call me so I can listen to their conversation and figure out the murderer's identity."

"If there's nothing to worry about, why are we racing to the scene?"

"Well," Sherlock paused, the few seconds it took for him to deliver what, on any other day, would have been an instantaneous and lofty rejoinder making John’s stomach drop, "I’m not there, and that’s usually when things go awry."

Before John could remark on that inane statement, Sherlock's phone rang.

"With a full house, Mrs. Davenport has the pot," came tinny through the speaker. 

"Oh, it must be beginner's luck, Mr. Warwick," they heard Mrs. Hudson say.

"I thought you said this was Bingo," John hissed.

"I may have been…misinformed," Sherlock whispered back.

"You seem to be very lucky, indeed, tonight," Warwick said. "That was your third kitty in a row."

"I'm just grateful that my husband, God rest his soul, taught me a little something about the game before he passed."

"I don't think that is the problem, Mrs. Hudson."

Tucking the phone against his coat, Sherlock leaned over the front seat. "If you get us there with three minutes, I'll double your fee." He was flung backward as the taxi lurched forward at speed.

They sat there, powerless, as accusations flew and "Mrs. Davenport" protested her innocence. There was a scuffle, then silence—Mrs. Hudson's phone had been disconnected.

Seconds later, they arrived at the specified household. Sherlock tossed money at the driver, then he and John raced up the steps. John kicked in the door and the two rushed inside…

…to find Mrs. Hudson standing over an unconscious man, the other members of the club cowering behind the table as she brandished a sterling silver tea tray over her head.

Mrs. Hudson turned, saw them, and smiled. "You might want to call the police, love."

John did.


End file.
